


Counting Fireflies

by Paclipas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bees, Brotherly Bonding, Cabins, Castiel Loves Coffee (Supernatural), Castiel is a big old softie, Cottage Core/Cabin Core?, Dean Winchester In Love, Dean Winchester in Heaven, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Domestic Fluff, Drinking & Talking, Ensemble Cast, Even in the Afterlife, Eventual Romance, Everyone Gets A Shoutout, Families of Choice, Friendship/Love, Gardens & Gardening, Happy Ending, Harvelle's Roadhouse (Supernatural), I completely forgot about Kevin kill me, Implied Sexual Content, Interior Decorating, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, One Big Happy Family, Post-Canon, Requited Love, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28056315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paclipas/pseuds/Paclipas
Summary: Cas’s cabin stands proudly at the end of the road, just at the edge of a meadow that stretches out like an overgrown back yard.  It's kinda run down with barely any furniture and to top it off there’s a sink with a leaking faucet even though this is Heaven.Dean has never felt more at home.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 25
Kudos: 196





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> I have spent what can probably be considered an unhealthy amount of time daydreaming of what Cas and Dean's Heaven might be like and because 2020 is almost over and we deserve good things, I've decided to gather some of those ideas into a little story. 
> 
> I hope you'll join me for a sweet ride as those two finally get their happily aver after. 
> 
> x

Heaven is surprisingly lovely, Dean thinks as he drives down a long stretch of nondescript highway toward a horizon that never comes closer. Days being the way they are, Dean can’t be entirely sure how long he’s been up here, and by extension how long it’s been since he kicked it, but he isn’t in a mood to keep count. Time flows differently in so far that it doesn’t really flow at all. Since it’s everyone’s afterlife rather than the segregated loops that used to be, time is handled in a very non-linear way. Dean could go and play off-brand arcade games with Ash at the Roadhouse for the equivalent of twenty-five Earth years and still meet his parents in time for dinner. Which is just a wild concept to wrap one’s head around, really, but he’d be lying if he claimed it was anything but awesome. He feels at ease here, surrounded by people he deeply cares for and that he never got enough time with when they were all still alive. Now they get all the time they could ever need. Maybe for a little while in the beginning he was moping the slightest bit and tempted to just let time pass by him until Sam could be there too. To taste Mom’s home cooked dinners that are actually decent with a pinch of divine intervention, or watch Jo and Charlie almost start a brawl over _Doctor Who_. The latter is especially hilarious after a few drinks with Jo threatening to fight anyone who disagrees with her that the reboot is _the best_ , while Charlie is more than willing to defend the original to the death – which admittedly means much less up here than anywhere else. Dean once made the mistake of claiming he kinda liked the Tenth Doctor, prompting Charlie to joke how she wasn’t surprised considering his _type._ All-powerful being in a trench coat? _Please_. He has stayed out of the little feud since but he’s sure Sam will have a blast with it all once it’s his time to join them, which in all honesty Dean hopes won’t be for a long time.

An unpaved road forks off to the right, materializing far enough ahead to allow for an easy turn just as Dean recalls the directions Bobby has given him. After avoiding this particular corner of Heaven for a deliberately undefined amount of time, he feels a tinge of nervousness as he steers the Impala down the long driveway to his destination. While he has been reacquainting himself with friends and family, there is one person he has not yet sought out and the more he waited, the more reluctant he became. What made him decide today is as good as any he can’t quite say. Maybe Charlie’s trench coat comment hit a bit harder than intended, maybe he was finally done passively waiting for things to happen. Ultimately, he decides the _whys_ really don’t matter all that much when a building comes into view. Dean kills the engine once he’s close and takes a few steadying breaths before getting out of the car to take in the new environment. He’s arrived at the edge of a clearing, with tall birch trees filtering the golden sunlight through their leaves to paint dancing patterns onto everything in their reach. There’s a symphony of bird calls echoing around him, some familiar others not so much, and it smells just like after the first rainfall in summer. He doesn’t have the words to explain the overwhelming feeling of belonging that settles in his chest but this is quite possibly the most peaceful place Dean has ever been, and he’s in freaking _Heaven_.

Cas’s cabin stands proudly at the end of the road, just at the edge of a meadow that stretches out like an overgrown back yard. As Dean walks closer he finds that a lot of care was put into the scene, every wild flower swaying in the perfectly warm breeze just one more piece in the intricate puzzle of this place. The cabin itself is a crass contrast to its surroundings. Its wooden exterior doesn’t look like it has seen a lot of love in at least a decade, which is odd considering it must have been a conscious choice for it to be like that. The three steps leading up to a broken screen door groan under Dean’s weight and if he didn’t know it was impossible he’d be worried of the wood giving in beneath him and leading to serious injury. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to find the courage to knock, his heart picking up a nervous double-beat. He waits for an answer, knocks again when it doesn’t come. For a moment he just stands there uselessly because this is a first. Due to Heaven’s time warp system you always arrive at a place when its inhabitants are home. A distinct feeling of _something’s wrong_ overcomes him and it only worsens when he tries the door and it swings open freely. In an action that’s pure muscle memory he reaches for a gun hidden in the back of his jeans that of course isn’t there.

Once inside he immediately feels silly. Cas was actively involved in building this place, there is no way anything could have happened to him, especially with Jack looking out for him and all the rest of them up here. Shaking off his unease he decides a bit of snooping should be alright if Cas left his door unlocked. There’s some coat hooks on the wall next to the door with nothing hanging from them, not a single pair of shoes on the grimy floor mat. There’s a narrow stairway leading one floor up, but the entire downstairs area is basically one big, sparsely furnished room roughly divided into a living area and a kitchen on each respective side. A neglected love-seat with a scratchy looking blanket that should probably be introduced to a lint roller at some point thrown haphazardly over it is more or less the center piece. Across from it, sitting on a stack of books that’s pushed up against the wall, is a poor excuse for a flat screen TV that’s barely bigger than a microwave. The tiny kitchenette is made up of a rudimentary assembly of appliances that won’t allow for much cooking beyond reheating yesterday’s take-out, and to top it off there’s a sink with a leaking faucet. Dean realizes the place reminds him a helluva lot of Bobby’s house, only much less cluttered and decidedly more clean.

Upstairs there’s a bathroom with an ill-fitted shower that you almost run into when you walk inside even though the room is an okay size as far as cabin bathrooms go, as well as two more rooms. One appears completely untouched with no furniture in it and the wallpaper peeling off the drywall in sad strips, the other is Cas’s bedroom. Dean absentmindedly pushes a hand onto the mattress as he passes the bed, frowning at the metallic noise the action draws from the springs inside. He decides to get some memory foam in here ASAP. No friend of his is going to endure this sad excuse for a resting surface on his watch. A closer look at the room at large reveals there's barely anything personal in here, or rather in the entire house. It’s the bare minimum to pass for a dwelling and Dean has all but given up on finding anything sentimental that shows Cas actually lives here when he opens the closet on a whim on his way out. Inside he finds a rumpled trench coat on a lone coat hanger and it makes him stop in his tracks. It's the original one, the one Dean couldn't throw out and instead chauffeured around in the Impala for so long, pretending it didn't hurt like a bitch whenever he saw it in the trunk. It feels like he's intruding on Cas's privacy by having found it, so he gives it a friendly tug goodbye and leaves it hanging there.

As if on cue he hears footsteps downstairs, followed by a very neutral rendition of “Dean?”

His heart clenches after hearing the voice that he is so intimately familiar with but thought he might never hear again and he takes the stairs down two steps at a time. For a moment he thinks maybe Cas knew it’s him in the house because he can _feel_ his presence but then he realizes the Impala is parked out front. He doesn’t really have the time to be disappointed when he almost bumps right into Cas at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hey,” he says stupidly before going for a hug Cas openly accepts. It’s a brief affair but Dean still allows himself a little squeeze at the tail end of it, overwhelmed by the fact that he has his best friend back against all odds. When he pulls back with a last friendly pat to Cas’s shoulder he flashes a deflecting grin, not quite sure how to move forward from here. “Miss me?”

Cas doesn’t even grace his joking tone with a reply, just lets out a breath that could have been a laugh with just a bit more enthusiasm behind it and averts his gaze. It gives Dean the chance to take a good look at him. He’s dressed very business casual in a fitted pair of slacks and a light blue dress shirt with the top buttons undone to reveal a tease of collar bone. It’s a strange look on him, but he wears it well. Cas seems entirely different to when he last saw him, less raw, more reserved. His best guess is that this isn’t like he pictured their reunion to go either, if he did at all, with Dean just strolling into his house out of the blue. When Cas meets his eyes again he looks sad.

“It’s so good to see you again, man,” Dean says honestly, hoping to put some joy back in him.

“You should not be here, Dean. Not yet.”

“What, no _‘Welcome to my crib’_ for me?”

“I meant in Heaven. You were supposed to live freely, for once.”

“Tell that to the piece of rebar that got me. Faulty construction ain’t no joke.” Dean understands the way Cas’s face hardens. He doesn’t like the way he died either but his life hasn’t exactly been the Choose Your Own Adventure type of deal. “Least I got to go out swinging like I always wanted.”

“Dean.” Cas’s voice is soft as he speaks. “You and I both know that’s not true.”

It’s not a subject he’s eager to discuss at this point, maybe ever, so instead he attempts to steer the conversation away from himself. “So, how come you’re this surprised to see me? Didn’t your angel mojo give you a little warning or something?”

His tone is light, teasing even. All Cas does is frown. “I’m not exactly an angel anymore.”

Dean’s own smile falters but he doesn’t dare ask for elaboration. It turns out he doesn’t need to when Cas offers the information unprompted. “The only way for Jack to pull me from the Empty was if I left my grace behind. I had already lost everything by that point, what was one more little piece?”

For a second Dean is transported right back to room 7B of the Men of Letters bunker, listening helplessly to Cas’s confession. He’d said Dean did everything in his life for love, and maybe that’s true, but so did Cas. He wants to say something, reassure his friend that he is still in awe of his words and his courage every single infinite day of his afterlife, but his tongue is tied. Not even death has cured him of his inhibitions, it seems. “So what, you’re human now?” he asks instead.

Cas does chuckle then. “Well, I have never had a soul of my own, but Jack has managed to give me an approximation of one in order for me to stay here. Let’s call it human with certain privileges. I have taken on a mediating roll between Jack and the remaining angels. After all, he does stem from Lucifer’s bloodline. Some take issue with that.”

Dean figures that’s how Cas can pop in and out of the heavenly time construct but he decides to instead focus on a more important point. “You raised him well, Cas,” he assures gently.

“We all did.”

Dean is done with the heavy conversations then, instead throwing an arm over Cas’s shoulder and steering him through the living room toward the sliding door that leads to the meadow outside. He jokes that he demands a tour of the garden and won’t leave before he gets it. It has the desired effect of finally drawing a genuine smile from Cas. They step outside into what is a perfectly mild summer day. Cas’s patio is not exactly spacious but it holds two battered deck chairs with a narrow side table between them that look pretty damn inviting. Before he gets to sit down, Cas is leading the way toward a well-trodden path that snakes through the meadow and Dean follows willingly, not ready to drop his arm and lose the physical contact. He tries to listen to what Cas has to say about biodiversity and pollinators as he points out different plants and insects buzzing around them but all the words just kind of mix together into a soothing hum. Damn he fucking missed that voice. It has lost some of its gravel up here, or maybe Cas is simply no longer holding back any part of himself, but it provides such a strong feeling of home, Dean doesn’t quite know what to do with it. He hasn’t conjured a place of his own yet, always either crashing at his parents’ house when in need of comfort or taking his car for a spin when he wanted alone time, and it’s been nice but nothing has come close to what he feels now standing in a purple patch of widow flowers with Cas.

He halfway expects a sense of panic to overcome him but it doesn’t. He’s in Heaven with his best friend after a lifetime of losing each other over and over again, there’s nothing left to scare him. They casually stroll back to the patio where Dean does drop his arm from around Cas but only in favor of sitting down in one of the twin chairs. They conjure up some beers and clink their bottles together amicably as silence settles between them. It’s Cas’s part of Heaven so Dean makes it a point not to control it but after some time the sun starts to set to create the perfect evening glow he would have chosen for this moment regardless. They chat idly for some time, about surface topics that don’t threaten their companionable drinking atmosphere as the sun sinks behind the tree tops before it disappears altogether. The swaying evening shadows that stretched across the meadow are replaced by glowing specks of light and Dean gets distracted by them, temporarily shifting his attention away from Cas even as he feels his eyes on him. He hasn’t seen fireflies since he was a boy.

After some time Dean shifts his weight in the chair and it makes a groaning sound, calling him out of his awe and prompting him to finally ask what in the name of everything has made Cas choose this place as his humble abode. He promptly learns why the house seems so thrown together and dilapidated when instead Cas could have had anything at all, a big suburban mansion, a vibey NYC loft, even a damn houseboat if that's what he wanted. Cas just goes soft as he looks at him and says "It's got character." and even Dean realizes it means that Cas has chosen the house because a shitty old house had been the first sort of home Cas had ever experienced on Earth, and it had been so full of familial love that aesthetics never mattered. It’s such a sweet homage to their early days together that it takes a long drink from his beer to give his heart a chance to restore its regular rhythm.

Much later that night, when they're both swaying with the constant perfectly balanced buzz of just too much booze, Dean surprises himself by bringing up the day Cas saved him. Next to him, Cas goes still but his shoulders stay relaxed like it doesn’t surprise him that they can’t stay away from the topic.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make your deal count for longer,” he admits. “I swear I tried. I tried _so_ hard to get myself a life that you would’ve wanted me to have, even though it was gonna suck without you there.”

“I would have gladly traded my life even if it only bought you a day, Dean.”

“Don’t say that, man.”

Cas shrugs, unapologetic. “It’s the truth.”

“I _know_. That don’t make it right. You said earlier I was s’posed to live freely, but so were you.” The slur becomes more evident in his words because Dean needs to hide them behind a veil of inebriation and Heaven physics always comply. “Shit Cas, you don’t go telling a guy you love him just ‘cause you’re about to die.”

“I didn’t die,” Cas states dryly, almost stubbornly, and drains his beer.

“’M trying to say something here, Cas.”

At that Cas turns his full attention on him, and his eyes burn with the same intensity as when he was still an angel. “And what is it you’re trying to say?”

Dean _wants_ to say what Cas deserves to hear but he can't. Not yet.

Instead, he settles for the closest truth. "Thank you."  
  
Cas smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes as he averts his eyes to stare out into the night. “Any time.”

Once Dean wills himself sober enough to drive, not that it really matters all that much, Cas follows him lazily through the house only halting once he can steady himself against the frame of his front door. Dean waves his goodbye before climbing into his car, using the gesture as an excuse to commit the image of Cas as he’s standing there to his memory, thinking that Heaven just got a whole lot lovelier still.

He swears he'll come back to fix the leaking faucet before he speeds off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't put myself on a set schedule because that never works in my favor, but rest assured that there's more in the works. Stay tuned.


	2. Fixer-Upper

The day he shows up at the cabin with a toolbox he borrowed from Bobby during his last visit, he surprises Cas once again. Dean hears him roaming around in the garden and decides to walk round back to greet him, calling out once a wind-swept head of hair comes into view. He is not prepared for the way it makes Cas jump but feels a touch of vindication for all the times he came close to a heart attack with the angel showing up in his personal space unannounced. The expression on Cas’s face quickly transforms into one of mirth as he welcomes Dean back. For a moment he is so distracted by the easy smile on Cas’s face that he doesn’t notice the clothes he’s wearing right away but once he _does_ he almost drops his toolbox. Judging by the assortment of shovels and hoes, he clearly interrupted Cas’s gardening, and the guy is dressed for the occasion in a pair of denim overalls. One of the clasps is broken, so the top hangs lopsidedly off Cas’s body, revealing a white t-shirt with a stylized bee on it. Underneath the insect a scribble asks to _‘bee kind’_. It’s beyond ridiculous but Cas looks absolutely adorable as he wipes his hands on his thighs, leaving earth crumbs on the denim.

“What’s with the get up?” The question is intended to deflect the fuzzy feeling that’s spreading all the way to Dean’s toes but when Cas looks down at the little bee on his chest and _blushes_ , Dean regrets having commented on the outfit at all because he cannot handle seeing his friend this soft. It’s like he’s a different person in Heaven but it somehow feels right, like this is the version of Cas that gets to be free with no baggage weighing him down anymore. Dean supposes he’s not exactly the same as he was on Earth either.

“It’s funny because it’s a word play,” Cas explains redundantly. “And I like bees.”

“Oh, I remember.” Dean laughs at the distant memory of a bee-covered angel appearing on the hood of his car, now long enough in the past to be funny rather than traumatizing.

The look Cas sends his way- eyes narrowed, head tilted, still half smiling- makes Dean vow to spend the eternity of his afterlife getting to know this still-the-same-but-different Cas inside and out. While a part of him wants to rush forward right this moment and profess his deepest devotion, he doesn’t quite know how to go about that in a way that does their shared history and Cas’s parting words to him back at the bunker justice. However, Dean’s always been a man who likes a mission, a purpose, so instead he raises the toolbox in his hand for emphasis and announces he’ll get to working on the kitchen faucet.

Rationally, Dean knows that nothing in Heaven needs actual manual work. Food appears with a thought, dishes get done and put away just as easily, it surely extends to fixing appliances as well. Thing is, when Dean does start fixing up the place he doesn’t stop at the faucet because that's like a two minute job and he tells himself he needs an excuse to keep coming back. He starts with the hardwood floor in the entire house, sanding it meticulously for the better part of a week before refinishing it. It brings out the rich warmth of the dark wood and makes the place immediately more welcoming, which in case of the living room is a stark contrast to the furniture. The love seat is comfort-adjacent at best, though when he mentions as much to Cas all he gets is an eye-roll. Dean still insists it has to go and in its place he convinces Cas to get a more spacious model with large pillows to sink right into. They of course test it right away when it arrives (read: _appears in its designated_ _spot_ _at will_ ), with Dean pulling a reluctant Cas down onto the soft new addition to his home.

“Remember the Dean Cave?” he asks when Cas complains for the umpteenth time that he doesn’t need a couch that big. “I want you to have something like that.”

Cas, sunken back into the pillows, loses some of the hard lines of annoyance on his face. “A Cas Cave?”

“More a Fortress of Casitude,” Dean corrects gently. “Has a better ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you say, Dean.” To anyone else the statement may have sounded resigned but Dean can hear the genuine fondness ringing through.

“So,” Dean pokes Cas playfully in the side, fighting the sudden lump in his throat. “Instead of complaining about all the things you _don’t_ want, how about you tell me what you _do_ like?”

For a moment it looks like Cas wants to protest but his expression turns thoughtful as he stares into empty space somewhere beyond Dean’s shoulder. “A fireplace,” he finally says.

Dean takes mental note of it, grinning at the lessening resistance to his renovation efforts.

Despite Cas’s initial vocal distaste, the couch ends up staying. So does the hideous lint-covered comforter, or rather it keeps showing up no matter how often Dean throws it out. He decides it’s not a hill to die on when he arrives at the cabin one day to find a recliner added to the living room corner, identical to the ones he left behind in the bunker. Cas never acknowledges it, just looks serenely at Dean from where he stands in the kitchen cradling a never-cooling cup of tea. When he leaves to roam around outside like he almost always does while Dean works, it’s his cue to start on the promised fireplace. He’s decided on a simple brick number, nothing fancy but with the nice monotone workload of constructing it piece by piece. A reasonable amount of time passes while Dean gets his hands- and some of the floor- covered in mortar and the fireplace gains height brick by carefully placed brick. He’s enjoying this, building something _for Cas_ , showing he cares in a non-destructive way. Heaven of course facilitates the work a lot, allowing the fireplace to fit perfectly into a nook that wasn’t there before. At some point he hears the sliding door and hollers at Cas to stay away so the surprise isn’t ruined, effectively keeping him in the garden where he no doubt will find another thing or two to pass the time. For the mantel piece Dean decided on walnut wood, courtesy of many an hour spent on vigorous research in _Country Living_ magazines that he won’t ever admit to having kind of enjoyed. The dark wood compliments the newly shining floors and its organic pattern brings some of the surrounding nature that Cas loves so dearly into his home.

Dean takes a moment to admire his work as he wipes his hands on his already mortar-stained jeans before having the debris disappear in an instant. While he enjoys the building part, he can’t say as much about the clean-up, so one more point for the afterlife for making it a non-issue. The fireplace looks great in its little nook but the wall above it appears kind of barren in comparison to what is slowly becoming a damn cozy living room corner. He makes an executive decision to add a TV to the empty space above the fireplace. So far he’s never taken the time to see what channels Heaven has to offer but there’s always something or other playing on the forgotten flat screen at the Roadhouse and anything will be better than the tiny model Cas had resting on his little stack of books. While he’s at it he adds a rustic coffee table and a neutral rug to tie everything together, decidedly ignoring the fact that Sam would tease him endlessly for this newly acquired interior design talk.

Outside he finds Cas in one of the deck chairs with his legs stretched out in front of him, basking in the perpetual afternoon sunlight that seems to always surround the little cabin. His eyes are closed but they flutter open when he notices he is no longer alone. After that first day, Dean hasn’t managed to startle Cas again. A routine has quietly formed between them, both working in tandem in their respective domains, and Dean’s presence is no longer out of the ordinary.

“Up for a surprise?” he asks with an easy smile.

“Is it still a surprise when I know what you’ve been doing?” Cas quirks up an eyebrow, clearly baiting him into one of their _i_ _s-_ _t_ _his-_ _r_ _eally-_ _n_ _ecessary_ type of discussions.

Dean humors him with an eye-roll. “You haven’t seen it finished. C’mon, don’t be a grouch.” He holds out a hand and Cas accepts it, allowing Dean to pull him out of the chair. Once they stand face to face he finds himself reluctant to let go. Cas’s hand is warm and calloused from his gardening and it somehow fits nicely into Dean’s, something he’s never dared to notice. The seconds it takes him to process all this are enough to make Cas cast a curious look at their joined hands as well, though he doesn’t pull away. “Close your eyes,” Dean finally requests, deciding that guiding Cas inside for a more impactful first impression of the room is the best excuse he has not to lose the touch. Predictably, Cas does as he is told, offering his full trust and making it all the more obvious that he would never deny Dean a thing, no matter how much he may protest sometimes. Deep down he knows that he shouldn’t need an excuse because Cas’s feelings are out in the open and any distance left between them is entirely on him. Rather than wallow more in his internal conflict, Dean swallows around the emotions constricting his throat and gently leads the way inside the cabin.

“Alright.” He gently tugs Cas into the spot he deems as the most flattering vantage point of the living room and finally does let go of his hand to stand a few steps behind him. “Open your eyes, sunshine.”

Cas remains almost completely still as he takes in the room in front of him. The corner is almost unrecognizable and Dean starts to feel an onset of nervousness that grows in intensity the longer Cas stands there not saying anything. It doesn’t help that he can’t see the expression on his face from where he’s standing. “If you don’t like it you can change it back,” he offers, voice thinner than he’d like it to be. “I mean, I know it’s super different but I figured you could add some stuff. Like, a bookshelf behind the recliner. Or those plant propagation things you keep talking about, they could go on the mantle. Some pictures too, maybe.” He knows he’s just rambling to fill the silence but the lack of reaction is killing him.

Finally, Cas puts him out of his misery by slowly turning around to face him, revealing that his silence is not one of distaste but of wonder. “Dean, it’s perfect.”

“Yeah?” Relief floods his entire body.

“Yeah.” Cas echoes, his entire face breaking into a smile. It takes Dean’s breath away and makes his eyes sting with emotions he doesn’t know what to do with.

He manages a heartfelt, “Glad you like it”, despite his ongoing inner turmoil.

Cas closes the distance between them until he is way up in his personal space, 2009 style. A faint wave of body heat radiates off him, warms the space that’s left, and it feels just as familiar-but-not-quite-the-same as everything else about Cas these days. The proximity has a magnetic effect that makes it impossible to look away, much less move.

“I love it,” Cas whispers, adding to the undeniable intimacy of the moment. It feels like the words are barely masking something else, a sentiment that’s clear from the way Cas’s impossibly blue eyes stare straight into his very core.

Before he can stop himself, Dean finds himself responding. “Me too, Cas.”

It doesn’t feel like they’re talking about the fireplace.

Something shifts between them after the living room reveal. For one, Cas spends significantly more time orbiting around Dean while he works, dropping the whole act of being reluctant and finally allowing himself to join in on the fun of fixing himself a Heavenly home. He doesn’t exactly _help_ , clearly preferring the work outside where he has started on a little vegetable bed, but he does come up with ideas of what he might like and Dean jots them all down on a little notepad that he keeps in the back pocket of his jeans. That’s how Cas ends up with a mini library in the spare room with a rotating assortment of literature depending on what he’s interested in at the time, a walk-in shower that’s placed in a much more appropriate corner of the small bathroom and has a rain forest shower head, and a new bed frame- memory foam update included- with a headboard that matches the walnut wood of the fireplace mantel downstairs, affirming that Dean was spot on with the choice.

There is no way to track the time that passes like this, during those unending summer days. No one complains about a prolonged absence when he does show up at the Roadhouse to share a beer with his friends while Cas is out on Heavenly business, his parents welcome him warmly whenever he pops by with an offering of freshly baked pie he picks up on the road. Bobby never asks for his toolbox back, just calls him an _idjit_ for taking the easy way out on the challenging parts of his handy work when Dean brags about his fireplace. Ultimately, Dean always ends up back at Cas’s cabin at the end of each stretch of time he spends with other people and every time he arrives and finds Cas tending to zucchini plants, tree saplings, or his newest composting passion it feels like coming home.

At one point Dean decides if he's going to be there so often anyway he needs a place to make proper food because eating is a delight he refuses to neglect in the afterlife. However, while he has a great deal of confidence in his handy work, reconstructing an entire kitchen is a lot. So what if he cheats with a bit of Heaven mojo to extent the counter-space just a bit and bring in a slightly newer model fridge. Cas complains a little but Dean promises the double doors will grow on him. They _do,_ even if Cas stubbornly refuses to admit it. The end result is a spacious and fully functional kitchen with an island that easily seats four and acts as a nice divider between this area and the living room. The cabinets get filled with ingredients, there’s beer in the fridge and Cas adds a fruit bowl on the counter that holds his first little harvest of strawberries.

On days where he doesn't feel like physical labor but still wants to see Cas he takes him out on drives; the best kinds. The ones without a destination that just take them where the road leads. And if the road also happens to lead to Dean reaching across the well-loved leather to grab a hold of Cas's hand then that's okay too. It’s an easy transition, made even more so by the way Cas welcomes the touches. With reverence, cherishing each simple contact regardless of how chaste it is. Dean isn’t all the way where he wants to be yet when it comes to laying his cards out for Cas to see, but with the cabin coming along so nicely he finds himself less careful to stay at what until now has remained a friendly distance. In addition to the occasional hand-holding that has so far been limited to the privacy of the Impala, he also allows himself to seek out physical contact when they are at the cabin. Just small lingering touches on Cas’s shoulder or the small of his back when they pass each other, not unlike to what their dynamic was back in the day but at the same time laced with that sense of newness that makes excitement coil low in his belly. One evening he finds Cas asleep, nose buried in the couch pillows he was so eager to complain about, and he just catches himself watching him. No one ever has to sleep in Heaven, yet Cas chooses to like he’s trying to catch up on the relaxation after a lifetime of almost constantly being awake and alert. The soft rise and fall of his chest has a meditative effect, entrancing Dean as he stands over him. Carefully, Dean drapes the inexplicably loved comforter over the sleeping figure, even cards a hand through Cas’s hair. When Cas blinks sleepy eyes open at the touch, he seems caught off-guard. Maybe because he’s not entirely used to sleeping yet, maybe because he simply didn’t expect Dean to stay at the cabin with no active tasks to work away on. He complains half-heartedly that Dean watched him sleep _like a hypocrite_. Dean just shrugs with an easy grin that freely shares his affection. “Payback’s a bitch.”

  
Cas just cocoons himself up in the comforter to hide his smile and it’s hands-down the most endearing thing Dean’s ever witnessed.

He stays at the cabin almost every night after this. Sometimes they sit together on the patio and just talk, about new things they discovered in Heaven in the few and far between stretches of time they spent apart, or other more mundane things like what type of coffee creamer to try next. Idle conversations that drag into the star-cluttered Heavenly nights but that fill him with deep affection. The fireflies are always there, dancing weightlessly across the meadow in growing numbers and sometimes Cas loses his train of thought as he watches them, like he’s trying to count every single one, only tearing his eyes away from them to look longingly at Dean in a way that makes his heart lose its rhythm. It makes Dean realize it maybe wasn’t Cas who made them appear, it was _him_ on his very first night there. That’s why Cas is so fascinated. It’s something of Dean’s, brought to this place that was never intended to be shared. Even if purely unintentional, it had been the first little piece of making the cabin a home, and Dean just never stopped from there, bringing bits and pieces of himself with his offerings of repairs and creating something that is now undeniably _theirs_ in the process.

Dean stops looking for excuses and reaches for Cas’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly before lifting it to his lips to place a soft kiss on his knuckles in a silent promise of _soon_.

They’re too lost in each other to pay any more attention to the gently swaying fireflies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to wrap this up by the end of the year, so there's some more sweetness to come.  
> Hope you stick with me!


	3. Lavender

"So," Charlie says with a smirk. "When are you gonna bring him around?"  
  
"Who?" it's a dumb question really, considering everyone else Dean hangs out with is already in the room. It’s Pool Night at the Roadhouse.  
  
"Oh I dunno, maybe the dreamy ex-angel whose new lavender patch you've been talking about non-stop since you got here?"  
  
He doesn't think he's been talking about Cas all that much but judging by the pointed look on Ellen's face behind the bar, he may not be as subtle as he believed.  
  
"He can tag along if he wants to, I'm not his keeper." It feels like a lie, and Charlie sees right through him anyway.

“Come _on_ ,” she whines, leaning across the table to shake his shoulder. “I haven’t seen him in for _ever_.”

“I’ll ask next time I see him,” Dean concedes. She doesn’t have to know that his plan is to go right back to the cabin once he feels he’s spent an acceptable amount of time socializing with people other than Cas. Which sounds kind of pathetic if he puts it like that. Maybe he should get himself a hobby or something so Cas doesn’t get sick of having him around all the damn time.

“Yo, Dean,” Ash waves his pool cue in the air to get his attention, effectively dragging him away from this particular train of thought. “Your turn to get your ass whooped.”

It’s as good an excuse as any to get away from Charlie’s all-too knowing gaze.

Next time Dean pulls up in front of the Roadhouse he has Cas in tow. His fingers drum a nervous beat on the Impala’s steering wheel as he’s fighting a wave of nervousness he definitely does not appreciate. The whole thing feels eerily like a Meet The Parents kind of situation even though his friends already know Cas, and he and Cas aren’t even _together_ like that.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says mostly for his own benefit, blankly staring through the windshield. “We could just go on a drive. Tell ‘em you caught a stomach bug or something.”

“There are no stomach bugs in Heaven.” Cas sounds annoyingly amused. “And I’m fairly certain that’s Jo standing in the window trying not to look suspicious.”

Now that he mentions it, Dean can make out a figure in the window. His forehead connects almost painfully with the steering wheel as he groans his frustration into empty space. Damn his friends for being this nosy and damn himself for not being better at hiding his _thing_ with Cas, whatever it is. There’s definitely been more hand-holding going on lately and maybe even the occasional cuddling session on the couch after Dean found out that red wine makes Cas adorably rosy-cheeked and drowsy and _very_ pliable to gentle touches. But it hasn’t gone further than that. He still hasn’t found the courage to share his feelings with Cas, though he is pretty sure they aren’t a secret by any means if the entire Roadhouse crew is teasing him even without having witnessed a single interaction between them in years, not to mention their new and improved dynamic in the afterlife. A hand on his leg pulls him back to the present. Cas’s face looks completely neutral, probably masking the intimacy of the moment from the potential onlookers who can’t see him giving Dean’s thigh a soft squeeze of reassurance. Dean relaxes under the touch even though the hand disappears an instant later.

“Well, don’t say I didn’t give you an out,” he finally states before plastering on a smile and climbing out of the car.

The scene that presents itself inside is almost hilarious. As Dean walks through the door, followed by Cas at a distance that is respectable enough to be suspicious, at least three heads snap in the opposite direction in a poor pretense of not having stared at the door. Or maybe that’s just Dean overthinking things. It’s not as bad as he imagined it would be. Ellen is looking maybe a bit more wide-eyed than her usual calm-cool-and-collected demeanor but she overplays it well enough. Jo is somewhat less subtle, her mouth hanging slightly open where she’s still standing by the window. Both reactions are understandable. It’s been more than a decade since they’ve seen the angel and back then he certainly wasn’t dressed in dark washed denim and band tees. Dean almost regrets having gotten him the holy replica of his old _Metallica_ shirt but he just looks so damn good in it that the feeling is short-lived. He continues looking around the room feeling a lot more at ease.

At the bar, Bobby is nursing a few fingers’ worth of some amber colored drink, his expression nearly soft. Dangerously close to a smile, actually. Ash just cocks his head to the side where he’s sitting on one of the pool tables, legs dangling, and lifts his beer in greeting.

And then Charlie is flying across the room and throws herself at Cas who to his infinite credit only stumbles a step or two backwards under the assault.

“Oh my god,” she squeals once she decides to give the guy some breathing room. “I can’t believe you’re actually here. I mean, I’m also sorry you’re _here_ because- well, we’re all. Y‘know.” She comically slides her thumb across her throat like this is the world’s most morbid game of Charades. Dean rolls his eyes and ushers Cas towards one of the tables before things can get too awkward. Charlie drops down in a chair across from them, watching each interaction with a grin.

“We heard you made it so we could all hang out up here instead of living Groundhog Day style,” Jo quips, slowly stepping closer to pull out a chair for herself as well. “So thanks for the improvement.”

“You all deserve it,” Cas replies but he’s looking at Dean while he says it which is really unfair because he can’t take his hand right now regardless of how much his skin tingles with the craving. “I wish it were under different circumstances,” Cas looks away, sending a timid look through the room. It makes it easier to keep his hands to himself, Dean thinks. “But I _am_ glad to see all of you again.”.

“Yeah? Then how come you never bothered to show up yourself until now?” Bobby’s words get everyone’s attention, except for Cas who averts his eyes to stare at the crescent of a water stain on the table.

"I was maybe under the impression that I was merely tolerated by you due to my close friendship with Sam and Dean."  
  
"And here I thought you had more than three functioning brain cells in that noggin o' yours, son," Bobby grumbles, getting up and placing a bottle of beer in front of Cas. "You've gone and earned your place in this family and then some. Shoulda at least come and said ‘Hello’."

Cas’s ears grow a shade darker under everyone’s scrutiny before he dares to meet Bobby’s eyes, shrugging apologetically.

Charlie, bless her heart, comes to his rescue. “Dean tells us you’re really into gardening?”

It effectively breaks any lingering tension.

Cas has never been a great conversationalist but he _does_ love his garden and speaks with pride of what he has accomplished so far. When he goes into detail about his lavender patch and how he hopes the bees will like it, Ash surprises them all by offering a high-five to Cas for his conservation efforts. It sparks a passionate debate on what would be a great plant to compliment the lavender and Dean _knows_ that he’s screwed on that front because he hangs on every word coming from Cas’s lips despite his best attempts at looking indifferent and it’s not going unnoticed. Charlie hides her giggle by taking a long gulp from the beer she’s been nursing.

Thankfully the conversation moves on to general catching up because people are damn curious how stick-up-his-ass Castiel, Wave of Celestial Intent, ended up as Cas, Future Beekeeper Extraordinaire. Everyone except for Ash has their fair share of stories on Cas’s quirks and it warms Dean’s heart to hear his favorite people speak with absolute fondness of what were actually pretty dark times in their lives. Reminiscing over several barely prevented Apocalypses calls for an obscene amount of booze, naturally, and soon Jo completely loses her filter and hangs from Cas’s shoulder while slurring about how she will never forget the line of shots he obliterated back in the day like it was nothing. This in turn prompts Ellen to test if Cas can still hold his liquor, so she places a row of shot glasses before him.

Unsurprisingly, it turns out he really fucking _can’t_ when he barely downs two and then spits the content of the third glass right back into it with a revolted groan. It should be disgusting but Dean is drunk too and the whole thing makes him laugh until he’s wheezing and his belly hurts. Cas looks utterly miserable for a moment until he meets Dean’s eyes. He must see something in them because his expression melts into an unabashed smile. Unable to hold back any more, Dean reaches over under the table and takes Cas’s hand, threading their fingers together. If anyone notices they don’t say a thing about it and frankly, Dean finds he doesn’t actually care.

He’s _happy_ , sitting here with this mismatched group of people who deserved better but never had a chance. Actually, he realizes he might not want _better_ if it means he would have never gotten to have this very moment right here. With Cas’s hand warmly in his and his unfairly blue eyes glazed over with just enough drunkenness that he looks disgustingly in love whenever he redirects his attention and steals a glance at Dean. Each time Cas looks away again, clearly invested in the outcome of Jo and Charlie’s heated discussion on Daleks versus Cybermen he probably doesn’t even understand, Dean finds he doesn’t feel like sharing said attention.

Reaching over, he snatches Cas’s glass from where it sits forgotten on the table and drains the last remnants of whiskey from it, stopping Ellen when she immediately offers to refill it. Bobby’s eyebrows shoot up, clearly surprised that Dean Winchester, dead or not, is turning down a drink.

“C’mon, Cas.” Dean tugs at their still joined hands. “Let’s go home.”

Cas’s head lolls to the side in an intoxicated version of his signature head tilt. “Home,” he repeats, like he’s testing out the word for the first time. He seems to like it, if the intensity of his gaze is any indication. “Yes. Let’s.”

It’s dark when they stumble up the steps to Cas’s front door between drunken laughter, poorly supporting each other’s weight. For a moment Cas fumbles with the key, not used to locking the door but doing so each time they leave now that Dean fixed the lock as well as the screen door. Inside, Dean hangs his canvas jacket on one of the new hooks he installed, next to one of Cas’s ugly-ass cardigans that has taken up residency there. Cas toes off his shoes and strolls into the kitchen on unsteady legs to put the kettle on for his homemade chamomile tea that he _swears_ is the perfect hangover cure despite the fact that hangovers are completely optional anyway. Dean follows him through the house, eyes falling on the pile of blankets on the couch that’s still there from when he spent the night, and the one before, and the one before that and… actually Dean has pretty much been staying here permanently.

“That was awesome,” he admits with a happy laugh when he joins Cas in the kitchen, shamelessly intrigued by the way his back muscles shift under the dark fabric of his t-shirt as he stretches to reach the cups sitting on the shelf above his head.

“I enjoyed myself as well,” Cas agrees. “Despite of how worried you were beforehand.”

“I wasn’t _worried_.”

“Yes you were.” He doesn’t need to see Cas’s face to know there is a smirk plastered on it. _Smartass_.

Indulging the alcohol still in his system he rounds the kitchen island until he’s standing right behind Cas, caging him against the counter with his arms on either side of his hips. The mood shifts from playful to something more earnest when he leans in to graze his nose along Cas’s jaw and up his cheek. Cas’s breath hitches at the action but he welcomes the touch, trying to twist around in order to give him easier access. Dean allows it happily. Now standing face to face he can feel Cas’s heartbeat against his own chest, first hammering wildly then stuttering when he leans back in to press a kiss to Cas’s temple. His lips trail back down from there, ghosting more kisses along the whiskey-flushed skin until he stops at Cas’s ear.

“Love you,” Dean whispers solemnly. Cas stiffens in surprise but Dean retreats just far enough to look him in the eyes and make sure he sees the truth of his words reflected in his expression. “I love you so fucking much I don’t know what to do with it half the damn time.”

Cas, in his blessed drunken state, surprises him with a smirk that contrasts with his usually soft affection. “I may have an idea or two.”

Dean raises an eye-brow at the barely hidden desire he finds in those blue eyes he’s been shamelessly gazing into all night. “I bet you do, perv,” he jokes, anticipating the responding slap to his shoulder before it comes.

Cas’s hand doesn’t leave him, instead kneads into his bicep before Cas uses the leverage to drag Dean closer until they finally, _finally_ collide in a desperate kiss. Cas’s mouth is greedy and insistent, clearly funneling a lifetime of frustration into his assault on Dean’s lips. In turn Dean gives as good as he gets, pinning Cas more firmly against the counter so their bodies are flush together, which draws a throaty sound from Cas that would have been illegal in all fifty states and Canada if Dean had any say in it. He’s instantly addicted, tries to evoke more of those beautiful noises that Cas kept to himself all this time. Maybe it’s good they waited until now to do this because he has a suspicion that the way Cas bites at his lips only to soothe over the irritated skin with his tongue immediately after would have killed him on the spot if he weren’t dead already.

With time their kisses grow less frantic but the electricity between them doesn’t wear off as Dean moves his hands from the counter, instead tangling them into Cas’s unruly hair to angle his head just that much more perfectly. He can feel Cas’s hands all over the place too, ghosting along his waist, fingertips teasing under the hem of his shirt and up his chest, mapping all the spots that make Dean gasp into the practically non-existent space between them. It’s infuriating and intoxicating and he _might actually pass out_.

With a desperate inhale for some air, Dean drags himself away a couple of inches. His breath catches in his throat when he is met with the look of absolute fucking debauchery on Cas’s face. His hair is an artsy mess, courtesy of Dean’s mindless efforts, not to mention the kiss-swollen lips that are just one step away from requiring censorship, and then Cas’s tongue darts out to prod at a spot that Dean must have been a bit too rough with and all thoughts of breathing are abandoned in favor of _more_.

He barely gets further than a peck when Cas places a gentle hand on his chest, keeping him at a slight distance. For a second there is some confusion because Dean’s body takes a moment to get the memo but Cas patiently waits, his hands softly continuing their idle exploration. Once Dean has regained some semblance of control he offers an inquisitive look, waiting.

“I love you.” Cas says softly.

“I know.” And even though he _does_ , hearing the words still scrambles his insides in the most ridiculous way. Between Cas’s adoring look and his Han Solo moment, it’s physically impossible not to smile like the love-struck idiot he is.

Cas smiles back, equally lost. “I just wanted to say it without it being a goodbye.”

“Hope there’s more where that came from.”

“We’ll see. Maybe waiting unreasonable amounts of time between saying it is our ‘thing’.”

“Funny guy,” Dean murmurs against Cas’s lips, stealing a kiss. Any follow-up quip is lost between them when Cas returns said kiss with increasing heat behind it and starts nudging Dean backwards so he can steer them toward the stairs, abandoning the just boiling kettle. He doesn’t have to be asked twice to lead the way up to the bedroom.

Dean is woken up by a ray of sun that sneaks in between the swaying curtains to settle right on his eyes. He’s in too good a mood to find even an ounce of annoyance in his body. Cas is still asleep next to him, breathing evenly, and Dean takes a moment to admire the expanse of skin on display. Their blankets are tangled messily around their hips, but everything from there up is just one big delicious tease as images of the night they shared float back into Dean’s mind. It feels surreal, having Cas naked and tangible in bed with him, and Dean can’t help but place a kiss on his shoulder before scooting closer and resting his head on it, which also conveniently puts him out of range from the sun rays. There is no rush to wake up, nowhere he’d rather be, and he inhales deeply before allowing his mind to go blissfully blank again.

The last thing that crosses his mind before he falls back asleep is that Cas smells like lavender.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, this got a little away from me so I might add an additional chapter, depending on how the next one goes- either way, more shameless shmoop to come.


	4. Miracle

There is nothing in the infinite time capsule of the afterlife that will ever trump the complete and utter sense of contentment Dean feels whenever he gets to wake up next to Cas’s stupid face. It’s a face he thought he’d gotten to know over the years. He’d seen it holier-than-thou and devoid of emotion, twisted in pain, scrunched up in confusion over nonsensical figures of speech. He’d all-too easily put hurt and betrayal into those damning blue eyes, and worked hard to make a smile tease at the corner of perpetually dry looking lips. It turns out all this knowledge has been superficial and he hasn’t _really_ known Cas’s face at all until now. He can close his eyes and imagine every little line that crinkles his forehead when he doesn’t want to get up just yet, can categorize the fleeting micro-expressions which are a tell-tale sign that Dean’s joke was actually _good_ but Cas would never admit it, and he's intimately familiar with the way Cas’s eyes flutter shut when Dean teases his tongue along the sensitive spot just below his navel. All of it is saved in Dean’s head now, stored away forever, and the collection keeps growing.

Some of his favorite expressions are easily evoked by a simple cup of coffee. In the mornings Dean is usually up first, still insisting that all he needs is four hours, and he enjoys the time alone in the quiet cabin as he fills their little French press with boiling water. He’s always made coffee for Cas even back in the bunker, and while the angel had sometimes taken the time for some lazy conversations over breakfast, more often than not he declined the offer. Now he would never dare. Heaven has transformed him into a caffeine junkie. Dean is convinced if there was a way to inject some _Arabica_ goodness intravenously, Cas would be the first to volunteer. Plus, now that he has discovered sleeping for pleasure it’s almost impossible to rouse him without the help of his morning coffee. At least if Dean wants to keep his methods rated PG.

Once the coffee is sufficiently brewed, he adds some sugar to his own cup and Cas’s favorite vanilla creamer to the black-and-yellow striped mug he picked out for himself. Dean actually made Cas swear not to overdo it on bee-themed merchandise in the house, but if Dean Winchester in love is one thing it’s a damn push-over and now here they are with Cas’s bumblebee mug and little bees flying loops on their tea towels. He doesn’t really mind, especially since he gets to have a little Impala replica on the mantel in the living room between Cas’s array of cacti and succulents.

Upstairs, Cas is spread out on his back in the middle of the bed. His blanket has been banished to somewhere around his ankles and there’s a sliver of skin visible above the waistband of his striped pajama pants where the t-shirt he wears to bed (of course one of Dean’s because he’s a sneaky son of a bitch) has ridden up. Dean sets down the two cups on the nearest nightstand before climbing onto the mattress next to the sleeping honorary human. He strokes just his index finger along the exposed skin at Cas’s waist, knowing it’s a ticklish area. As suspected, Cas responds with an undignified grunt but doesn’t actually wake up. Dean happily brings out the big guns. He shifts until he’s resting his weight on his knees and forearms, hovering above Cas. Almost straddling him but not making contact just yet. He leans down to nuzzle Cas’s face, placing small kisses on his forehead, his closed eyes, anywhere he can reach really. When he goes for the lips, always saving the best for last, he’s surprised that he’s being kissed back. There’s not much fire behind the reciprocation, Cas is too lazy for that in his barely awake state, but it’s sweet and the butterflies in Dean’s stomach start fluttering nonetheless.

“Morning, sunshine,” he murmurs once they break apart. “Brought you some coffee.”

Cas’s eyes open as he hums his appreciation, pushing Dean off him and to the side in favor of reaching for the liquid gold on the nightstand. Cradling his mug in both hands he sits up against the headboard next to where Dean has settled, taking several small sips.

“I love you,” he says, voice still thick with sleep.

“Was that meant for me or the coffee?” Dean teases.

Cas makes an exaggerated thinking face as if the answer needs some serious consideration. “Take your pick,” he finally offers but he threads a hand into Dean’s short hair and pulls him in for a kiss that teases with enough tongue and teeth to effectively answer the question.

Things have been good. Like, _insanely_ good to the point that it’s almost too much. Dean sometimes finds himself wondering if he isn’t actually in Heaven but in some Djinn-induced fever dream and any moment he’ll wake up in some crappy warehouse and find out it’s all been a lie. When he first told Cas about those thoughts he was met with understanding. After all being dead needs some adjustment, but ultimately Dean has learned that it feels nice leaving his so deeply-ingrained worries about all things supernatural behind. All that’s left for him to do is lead a happy afterlife in the cabin Cas picked and that he fixed and once he starts paying attention to the details he finds that everything is just the right amount of imperfect.

Whenever Cas is gone off to "work", Dean finds he actually _misses_ him. Usually, life up here means that negative emotions are more or less tuned out. You don't feel sad about the life you left behind, or pine for your loved ones. Instead there's a constant fondness, a sense of calm that keeps them in your mind but not to a point where it would cause you emotional pain. Yet whenever Cas leaves, Dean feels longing tug at his heart in a much similar way to when the angel left the bunker to go do his own reckless thing. The only difference is that now he doesn't have to fear that something will happen to him, that he'll get hurt or worse and Dean won't be there to save him. Because while everything can change on a whim up here, Cas is his constant. An unshakable anchor in the face of what could very well be an intimidating infinity of days morphing into one another. Cas comes back to him without fail and every time he does he greets Dean with a smile and a kiss that conveys, _very_ enthusiastically, that he's missed him too.

Dean loves it. Wishes they could have had this all along, despite knowing that he will have a literal eternity to make up for lost time. It just doesn't seem like enough. He needs _more_ of Cas's contagious laughter, more of his confused frowns that put that cute wrinkle just between his eyebrows, more hushed _I Love You'_ s just before they fall asleep in each other's arms. In a similar train of thought he also hopes the day where he is satisfied will never come and that he’ll always end up amazed when he least expects it.

It’s not an unreasonable hope, he learns, when Cas returns home from Nephilim-Turned-God Business School one day shuffling around in the entryway more than usual.

"Dude, not that I'm really complaining but how come every single time I turn on the TV it's playing _D_ _octor_ _Sexy_ reruns?" Dean hollers by means of greeting.  
  
He can imagine the amused chuckle before Cas’s distracted response. "Heaven doesn’t really have channels. It simply projects a program you find desirable at that moment."  
  
Dean immediately switches off the TV, flushing bright red. Stupid Heaven mind-fuckery. Not his damn fault Season 3 made for such good television. Thoroughly embarrassed, he finally drags himself off the couch to greet Cas by the door where he expects to be met with the sight of his effortless business casual look from the day of their reunion.

Instead he is attacked by a shaggy fur monster.

The force of the impact throws him backwards onto the floor, twenty pounds of happily yipping dog on top of him. Dean lets out a carefree laugh, hugging the animal to his chest and letting it lick his face even though he’s not a fan of it. “Hey, buddy,” he coos, dutifully scratching both ears once the whirlwind of fur and sloppy dog-kisses calms down somewhat. “I’ve missed you.”

Cas appears in his field of vision, a fond expression on his face. “Jack said he arrived early this morning. I didn’t know you had gotten a dog.”

For a moment Dean feels sad, looking into those big brown eyes and thinking that Sam is probably somewhere on Earth grieving the loss of yet another family member but he knows that life will go on and one day they will all be reunited and it is going to be okay. He gently pries the animal off him and lets Cas pull him to his feet, using the momentum to capture his lips in a zealous kiss. “Welcome home,” he rasps once the kiss ends with both of them breathless and Dean slightly overwhelmed with all the emotions swirling in his mind right now.

An insistent dog nose pushes into their calves in a shameless demand for attention. “I don’t think I’ve been formally introduced,” Cas says as he looks down at the animal, knowing there has to be a story here. Dean chuckles, takes Cas’s hand, and leads him to one of the stools at the kitchen island, telling him to sit down while he fixes them some lunch as has become their tradition for Cas’s returns. While he chops up a selection of homegrown vegetables for a nice Minestrone that matches the colorful autumn weather they have allowed to settle around the cabin these days, he relays the story of how one hyperactive fluffy miracle helped him heal after losing Cas.

He ends up talking about more than just the dog, extending the story to include his and Sam’s shared morning routines and their much more serene lives at the bunker, however short-lasting the peace had been. Cas listens attentively and it makes Dean smile like no one’s business when he absentmindedly starts scratching the dog’s ears like he watched Dean do before. Once the soup is boiling away on the stove and the narrative concluded, Dean thinks of a little dog bowl like the ones he used to have set up in his bedroom, finding one in their cabinets like it’s always been there a moment later. He fills it with water and places it on the floor for Miracle to reach.

Once he stands upright to watch his dog lap happily at the offering, Cas comes up from behind and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. He can feel a smile where Cas’s face presses against his skin at the back of his neck. “What?” he asks, leaning into the embrace.

“You stole someone’s dog,” Cas murmurs. “And you named him Miracle.”

“Yeah, so?” He isn’t gonna take the bait and start a discussion on how he did very much _not_ steal the dog, thank you.

Cas chuckles, his breath fanning warmly over Dean’s skin, eliciting a pleasant shiver. “Even after all these years, you still find new ways to surprise me, Dean.” The words come out teasingly but the affection in them rings clearly through the humor.

Suddenly deeply overwhelmed by emotion, Dean turns around in the embrace until he’s facing Cas. The look in his blue eyes matches his words, to equal parts jovial and devoted. It takes physical restraint to keep even the few inches of space between them and Dean decides he’s not in a fighting mood, diving into a kiss instead. Cas receives him with an appreciative hum as their lips meet, the smile still present at the very corner of his mouth. Dean wants to steal it, bottle it up somehow, because having him this happy and relaxed in his arms is nothing but a complete and utter delight.

They kiss languidly in the kitchen of what Dean still sometimes can’t believe is their shared home. His hands find their way into Cas’s hair, tugging it into a disheveled mess so he looks less prim and proper than his ironed-slacks-and-shirt combo would suggest. He loves the way Cas melts under his touch, becomes pliant and needy. Fucking magical, is what it is. He just decides that lunch can wait and reaches blindly to turn off the stove when Miracle uses the opportunity to push his wet nose into Dean’s palm. The unexpected touch sobers him out of his lust-filled haze. He laughs breathlessly, leaning his forehead against Cas’s as he blinks a couple of times, Miracle still nosing at his hand with a joyous grumble.

“Guess we gotta prepare to be cock-blocked from now on.”

Cas’s responding laugh tells him he happily accepts the trials and tribulations of dog ownership.

Their unusually warm autumn at the cabin flows naturally into the winter that has settled all around since Jack likes to keep at least some sort of seasonal continuity going, and their little family of three adjusts to their cohabitation easily. While the never-ending summer has been great, Dean finds he actually loves the winter evenings spent on the couch with him and Cas wrapped up together in the hideous comforter, some rum-spiked hot chocolate in their laps and Miracle curled up in front of the softly crackling fireplace. They added a vintage record player on a cabinet in the space behind Dean’s recliner that somehow always ends up playing the Zeppelin tracks from that mix-tape Dean once made for Cas. A remnant of a time where things were too complicated to have anything close to this. Sometimes Cas rests his head on Dean’s shoulder and hums along to the songs, ever so slightly off-key and outside any recognizable rhythm but it’s somehow still good. Or maybe Dean is even more gone for the guy than he thinks he is if he makes excuses for not doing the greatest band of all time justice. If one is to believe Jo there is no point arguing that particular point and for once Charlie is on her side.

They spend time with the Roadhouse crew more frequently now, alternating between staying at Ellen’s or Bobby’s houses with their families for regularly scheduled meals. Dean finds his friends actually act much more bearable around them when he _isn’t_ trying to hide anything. Their relationship or whatever. Bobby has even given him the talk, saying he better not be screwing anything up with Cas, _or else_ , so Dean guesses it’s pretty clear who the new favorite is around here. Miracle of course is a delight as well, animating even Ellen to throw snowballs in her back yard that are impossible for the dog to catch but make him yap happily as he chases through piles of fluffy snow. It gets stuck everywhere in his long fur and Dean already dreads having to brush it out in their shower later, because he will _not_ mojo out of his dog-related responsibilities. Not since Cas called him out on it, at least.

One of Ellen’s snowballs hits her husband Bill in the head and for a moment he looks _pissed_ but then he gathers a bunch of snow up in his hands himself and tosses it right back at her. Soon everyone joins in and it all escalates into a frosty _Battle Royale_. It’s everyone for themselves and Dean isn’t above using Cas as a meat shield, a fact he comes to regret not a moment later when said meat shield tackles him to the ground and shoves several fists worth of snow into his collar. An embarrassingly high-pitched yelp escapes him as he tries wiggling out from under Cas’s body and consequently away from the freezing assault. They end up in a pile, laughing their asses off as they try brushing snow out from where it got pushed up under their sleeves and into the backs of their jeans. Charlie comes running to help them both up before rejoining the still ongoing snowball fight.

It takes Dean some time to remember how to breathe, both from physical exertion and the laughter. Turns out catching his breath is a moot point once he gets a good look at Cas and it takes away his ability to evenly in- and exhale all over again. He’s quite the sight to behold, all rosy-cheeked from the cold, eyes sparkling with the residual glee from their laughing fit. There’s snow caught in the strands of hair that poke out from under his beanie, which is a mediocre result from his first knitting attempts that Cas got weirdly sentimental about and keeps wearing even though later models have turned out far superior as evident by more than half their friend group sporting head wear knitted by him.

“Damn, you’re gorgeous,” Dean says, more to himself than Cas. _Devastatingly handsome_ , he’d called him once in a genuine compliment disguised as a joke. Now he regrets not having said anything more often. In response to his words, Cas casts his eyes downwards, his cheeks growing another shade darker. The blush only adds more truth to the sentiment. Dean pulls him into a hug, shivering when Cas pushes his icy nose into an exposed patch of skin just under his jaw to steal some of his warmth. They stay in their embrace for a little while swaying gently back and forth until a snowball hits them both in the face. That’s what you get for having a snowball fight with a group of highly trained and way too trigger-happy hunters.

“Stop groping your snow angel and get your head in the game, you loser!” Jo yells, exposing herself as the culprit.

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Harvelle,” Dean hollers back, releasing Cas in order to scoop up some ammunition of his own.

She side-steps the snowball with ease. “Screw you, Winchester. I wasn’t all that into you to begin with.”

“Joanna Beth! _L_ _anguage_!” Bill scolds half-heartedly, earning himself an exaggerated eye-roll from his daughter and a snowball to the chest from his wife.

The next snowball Dean throws hits his target, closely followed by one of Cas’s. For a little while the battle picks up more seriously again but soon they’re all exhausted and starting to get cold so they declare a truce. Everyone comes out victorious but the real winner is of course Miracle, who got to chase after flying snowballs for the better part of the afternoon.

Later when they all sit together around the Harvelles’ dining table, nursing hot wine punch and warm apple cider, Dean doesn’t hold back from resting his arm on the back of Cas’s chair as he listens to Ash presenting his theory on a more strategic approach for future snowball fights.

“I love you guys,” Dean declares merrily once Ash has concluded he will annihilate them all next time.

“Aw, we love you too, you big softie,” Charlie retorts from where she’s sitting on his other side, squeezing his shoulder for emphasis.

“Indeed we do,” Cas agrees, though his tone is more serious. Enough so to make Dean turn around in order to coax him into a quick kiss that’s way more chaste than what he actually wants it to be, after all he doesn’t intend to scar their company. Much.

“They’re disgusting,” Jo complains seemingly out of principle.

“They’re _adorable_ ,” Charlie says, swooning.

Honestly, Dean doesn’t know which is worse but he decides he can’t bring himself to mind either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay alright, it's been snowing like crazy around here and I'm going through some stuff so I needed some additional fluff in my life. There's one more chapter after this that will hopefully still be done before new year's eve, otherwise y'all got something to look forward to in 2021 (beside the fact that the 9th circle of Hell that has been 2020 will be over).


	5. Meteor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello, the surprises keep on coming as I struggle to reign in the fluff. The choice was between either making this chapter insanely long or adding one more part after this as a sweet conclusion. I've decided on the latter, so this story will officially be finished on the last day of this our year 2020. Hope no one minds.  
> x

Many seasonal cycles come and go, stretching on or passing in a whim so that they don’t actually indicate the passage of years like they would on Earth. Jack keeps things intentionally vague, so much so that not even Cas in his role as angelic ambassador or whatever he calls it knows what’s happening in the land of the living. Dean just goes with the flow, focusing instead on the things that keep life interesting up here. John and Mary have taken to hosting barbecues at their little home and he has avoided them for the longest time, mostly because he won’t go without Cas but going _with_ Cas is also more easily said than done. In the end he proudly strolls into his parents’ fenced-in back yard with Cas’s hand firmly in his and his eyes steadfastly set on Dad who surprises him by being much more concerned about Miracle stealing the spareribs off his grill than he is about his son being with a man. Dean knows better than to see the mellow reaction as anything other than the result of Heaven smoothing over negative emotions, but he still welcomes that he won’t have to fight anyone to defend Cas’s honor. On a much brighter note, Mom is of course delighted that Dean has finally brought Cas around and it’s really all smooth sailing from there.

Dean figures out that they must be a couple of decades in once their numbers start growing at the now more sporadic gatherings. Jody shows up with her family in tow at one of Bobby’s ‘junkyard beer’ events, warmly embracing Dean with tears in her eyes. He notices his own vision go blurry at hearing that she made it long enough in the life to get to see the girls grow up to start families of their own. Cas laughs when she gives them a pointed look and says, _even Claire_. When Donna arrives at a potluck at the Mills residence some seasons later she is firmly clinging to her husband’s arm, jubilantly introducing him as _finally_ _not_ _a_ _Doug_. The man could have easily been offended but he looks at her with nothing but stars in his eyes and Dean wonders for a moment if that’s what people see when he looks at Cas. It’s all a whirlwind of hugs and laughter when they get together and Dean is reminded time and again of how lucky he was to have had this much love in his life despite the circumstances and always true to Bobby’s mantra of _Family Don’t End With Blood._

The only person still missing to complete the mosaic of patchwork families and newfound friends arrives on the first days of what will surely be another long summer cycle.

Dean can _feel_ it, the way he thought Cas would have felt him although he still claims he was completely dumbfounded by his arrival. Dean swears he’ll wait, claiming Sam probably has a wife he wants to see first, but Cas ushers him out the door and into the Impala before he even has time to process what’s happening.

“He’s your _brother_ , Dean,” he says firmly as he bends in through the rolled-down window. “Go meet him and tell him to come by for beers when he feels like it.”

“When did you get this bossy?” Dean jokes in an attempt to cover his nervousness.

Cas rolls his eyes dramatically. “I’ve always been this ‘bossy’.” The air quotes are audible in the way he echoes the word. “And you love it. Now _go_.” He sends him off with a lingering kiss that gives Dean enough courage to speed down their driveway onto an unknown road.

Sam does show up with a six-pack what to Dean isn’t that long after their reunion, granting their humble abode an impressed whistle as he walks up the steps to their front door where Dean is waiting with an arm slung around Cas’s shoulders.

“Hello, Sam,” Cas welcomes him warmly. There’s some long-forgotten gravel in his voice to match the trademark greeting from a different life. Dean takes the six-pack from his brother’s hands and disappears toward the kitchen to give Sam and Cas some space to have a moment, though the house isn’t big enough for him to go completely out of earshot.

“Cas.” Sam’s voice almost breaks on the single syllable. “It’s been so long.”

“You’ll find time has quite a different meaning now,” Cas explains, allowing himself to be pulled into a bear-hug by what is now effectively his brother-in-law, as weird as that is.

“Yeah, well.” Sam huffs a laugh. “I just spent what felt like forever meeting Eileen’s family and at the same time it still seems like I just got here so it’ll take some getting used to.”

“You been to see Mom and Dad yet?” Dean calls from the kitchen.

In response he gets a bitch face that in no uncertain terms says, _Duh_. It’s a beautifully annoying sight to behold and Dean distracts himself from the emotion that’s threatening to overwhelm him by starting on some food. Cas, sensing his distress, leads Sam upstairs for the official house tour. In the meantime Dean busies himself by tossing some greens together with olives and feta cheese in a bastardized version of a Greek salad. He can hear the two of them chatting as they roam from room to room. A part of him wants to join them, but he resists, letting Cas have his moment as a proud home owner. None of their friends have seen their place yet and it has felt like an exciting little secret while he and Cas have been nurturing their blossoming relationship. Now it’s been long enough that Dean is ready to share and who better to start with than his favorite person besides Cas. Once they reach what Dean assumes is the library the chatter picks up more excited tones. Much must have changed in all these years but he’s glad his brother is still a nerd.

When the tour reaches the kitchen, Cas makes sure to find his eyes to silently ask if he’s okay. Dean nods yes, in complete disbelief once more over what he did to deserve this. Sam seems oblivious to the exchange, or at least he chooses not to comment on it when he spots Miracle chasing after a butterfly through the open window. He’s out the door so fast, Dean barely has the time to process that _of course_ Sam would be excited to be reunited with the dog he cared for much longer than Dean ever got the chance to. Cas uses the opportunity to steal a kiss or two, probably more for Dean’s benefit than his own. He then disappears after Sam, yelling something or other about keeping Miracle out of the lavender patch.

Enough time passes that Dean manages to prep a loaf of garlic bread and place it in the oven, then his brother strolls back inside all by his lonesome.

"Your _boyfriend_ was just telling me how your tomato plants are coming along." Sam looks a little too smug as he says it.  
  
Dean makes it a point to very visibly roll his eyes. "Don't call him that, man. I'm in my forties, or at least that's when we stopped counting, and he's y'know," he vaguely gestures toward the window in an attempt to encompass Cas’s eternal holy existence. "Point is, no one our age has a ‘boyfriend’." He snorts, thinking he's won this round. "Like, c'mon, it's not like you call Eileen your girlfriend."  
  
Sam looks at him with complete incredulity, the expression clearly conveying the message of _Because, you big dumb idiot, she's my wife, remember?_

“Right.” Dean swallows his embarrassment with a sip from the beer he has allowed himself during his food preparation.

“I wish you could have been there,” Sam says wistfully, accepting another bottle Dean pulls from the fridge for him. “For everything. Our wedding. Holidays. Your _nephew_. God, there’s so much you would have loved, Dean.”

“I know, Sammy.” On another occasion, Dean would have downed his beer. Now he puts it aside in favor of looking openly at his brother. “But I’m here now. And Cas is here. Mom and Dad. Bobby. Everyone’s around and we’ll get to catch up on what we missed out on. ‘S not the same, but it’s pretty damn good.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Sam says softly, lost in his own thoughts. When he meets Dean’s eyes again his smirk is back. “If Cas isn’t your boyfriend, what is he then?”

A lot of words come to mind. Above all, Cas is still his best friend, his angel and savior, but they haven’t really decided to label their romantic relationship with any specific terms. He just shrugs, avoiding an answer altogether.

Sam looks skeptical. “Dean it’s been, _decades_ since you got here.” He thinks for a moment. “And Bobby tells me you two have been inseparable pretty much since day one, not to mention all the years before that.”

Dean makes a mental note to never tell Bobby anything ever again. “Earth years don’t count up here,” he insists, folding his arms over his chest in a defiant gesture.

“So you’ve never thought about anything more meaningful with Cas?”

“It’s me and _Cas_. No offense to your apple pie life but it doesn’t get much more meaningful than that.”

His brother’s eyes grow soft under Dean’s words but he sees right through his abrasiveness nonetheless. “Be honest.”

Conflicted, he stares out the window, trying to gauge how much longer Cas will be distracted by trying to keep Miracle away from his plants. When he seems sufficiently busy with chasing the dog around their freshly sown strawberries, Dean crosses the room to the cabinet that houses the record player and rummages through one of its drawers. He comes up with an unremarkable little box. “I got these a while back,” he admits quietly, popping the box open to reveal two wooden rings resting on a bed of velvet. One is a stripe of rich dark wood encompassed by obsidian-black on either side, the other a band of chrome that frames a stripe of uniquely patterned wood alongside a second stripe of meteor rock. It felt fitting to pick something out of this world for Cas.

Sam’s mouth falls open when he hears the explanation. “Dean…”

“I know, I know. It’s cheesy as fuck.” The box closes with a soft clicking sound before Dean hides it in the drawer again. “I’m just waiting for a good time, is all.”

“Dude, you’ve been together all this time. You live here in this amazing place. Just give it to him. You don’t need all the fanfare of going down on one knee and popping the question. This is Cas we’re talking about. You could get him a plastic ring from a chewing gum machine and he’d be stoked because it would come from _you_.”

“Is that what you did with Eileen?”

Sam laughs. “Hell no. That woman deserves _all_ the fanfare.”

Dean joins in on the laughter, basking in the happiness his brother got to find with his wonderful wife. They walk back to the kitchen when it’s time for the garlic bread to come out of the oven and Sam starts setting up plates and silverware unprompted.

“Are you afraid he’ll say no?” he asks casually after a while.

“’Course not, don’t be an idiot.” Dean is almost genuinely offended, though he figures he should cut his bother some slack. After all he hasn’t yet witnesses the full force of the ‘DeanCas flirt fest’ as Charlie refers to it sometimes when they get too unbearable even for her after a drink or three too many.

“Then don’t fucking wait much longer. Listen to an old man.” It’s ridiculous that Sam is actually serious because he doesn’t _look_ older than when Dean left him.

“Alright, Samuel the Wise,” he allows. “Your advice is appreciated.”

Thankfully Cas walks in at that moment with Miracle circling excitedly around his legs, effectively putting a stop to this conversation.

They start catching up on half the lifetime his brother experienced without him over lunch and Dean finds himself choking up more than once while Sam talks about his son. He even has some pictures to show, making it even harder to hold back the tears and soon all three of them are sniffling through their smiles as they listen to the Baby highlights of Dean Leahy. Dean notes the kid’s last name is both a sweet ode to Eileen and conveniently helps to avoid any confusion with his namesake.

Eventually the conversation turns to something less keen on targeting the water works when Sam asks about the Roadhouse crew and Dean happily relays the story of when Cas got into a drunken fist fight with Ash over who could recite more decimals of Pi.

“He only won because I was drunk,” Cas insists. It’s a poor defense for both the fact that Ash beat him on the decimals and the black eye he earned himself that day.

“Listen, sweetheart, I’ve seen you in enough hand-to-hand combat to know that it’s not exactly your strong suit.”

“I do seem to be better at handling a _blade_.” It’s an innocent enough statement but the look Cas sends his way gives it an undertone of innuendo that Dean isn’t sure is intended. He decides to raise a lewd eyebrow in response, just in case.

“That so?”

Cas nods earnestly, just the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying a smile. “I’ll show you later.”

Sam is suddenly very intrigued by the crumbs on his plate. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I think I liked you two better when you were still repressed. And I needed literal decades to recover from _that_ pine fest.”

“Oh please,” Dean laughs heartily. “If this is already enough to traumatize you, you better never swing by unannounced. Consider this a friendly warning that Naked Thursdays are a thing in this household.”

The telling blush on Cas’s cheeks is Sam’s cue to leave as he pushes himself abruptly out of his chair. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I’m your big brother and I love to torture you, even though you’re a wise old man in a deceiving body now.”

Sam’s mouth twitches into a smile no matter how annoyed he wants to be. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

It grows quiet in the cabin after Sam’s departure leaves them to fall into a familiar routine of cleaning up the kitchen. Cas washes the dishes while humming some tune that’s unrecognizable, while Dean pours some kibble into Miracle’s food bowl for his evening snack. It’s a comfortable scene of domesticity that Dean never thought he’d experience again after his year with Lisa and Ben. Yet this time around there’s so much more to it. He loved Lisa, he truly did, but he was at a point in his life back then where that alone hadn’t been enough and even in their good times together he’d always been itching for something more. The life he has built now with Cas- as ironic as it is to call it that- isn’t temporary or fleeting. It’s everything he should have never been allowed to have and now somehow still does.

Cas grabs his hand in passing and lifts it to his lips for a kiss before announcing he’ll go read his book in bed. Immediately on board, Miracle abandons his food in favor of racing him up the stairs, knowing fully well that the No Dogs In Bed rule is really more of a friendly suggestion. That means Dean now finds himself alone with his thoughts. Sam’s words keep playing in his mind, looping back to what he knows is true. He’s been stalling for no reason for _decades_. And Cas, ever saintly patient just enables his lack of emotional vulnerability, perfectly content with whatever he is willing to offer. As an angel he’d always kept his feelings ambiguous, had been happy to sacrifice himself though he’d thought his love was not reciprocated even though of course it is and has been for so long. He’d been content with what little Dean pushed himself to give once they truly had nothing left to lose. And even now that they are a definite _something_ , he has never asked for Dean to define it, instead basking in the love told through Dean’s actions when he still doesn’t verbalize it often enough.

Before he goes for the drawer again, he decides to pour himself some liquid courage. Not enough to actually impair his senses. For what he wants to do he knows he needs to be sober. He settles on barely a finger of whiskey, which is plenty to ease some of the tension out of his muscles while he sits on the couch and stares at the rings. The box weighs heavily in his lap but it doesn’t stem from dread. Instead Dean feels flooded with the sort of profound love that used to scare him but that he has slowly been learning to embrace.

He’s done stalling.

He finds Cas sitting against the headboard with his legs stretched out and his nose buried in his novel of the week. Miracle’s ears perk up when Dean enters the bedroom but he doesn’t move from where he’s draped lazily across Cas’s shins. In order not to disturb the dog, he rounds the bed and climbs onto his side of the mattress, settling into a kneeling position. The rings feel warm in his pocket although he knows it’s just his racing pulse playing a trick on him.

“Hey, Cas,” he starts, surprised when his voice comes out steady. “Got a sec?”

Cas doesn’t look up from his book but there’s the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Of course, Dean.”

He gently pries the book from Cas’s hands, wanting his full attention. The action paints a shade of concern onto Cas’s face that Dean tries to quickly fight by taking Cas’s hand in both of his. “I kinda need you to look at me for this.”

Miracle grumbles his complaints as Cas shifts on the mattress to turn his body more fully toward Dean but the stubborn dog still doesn’t get up. “What’s going on?” Cas asks, rightfully confused by the mood.

“I- uh.” _Great start, Winchester_. Dean takes a calming breath, trying to focus on Cas’s eyes to steady himself. “You know I’m not one to hold speeches. Or very in touch with what I’m feeling. And I bet it’s a real pain in the ass for you when I still try and fail to get the words out sometimes but I hope you know that I love you. Have for a long fucking time, though I was too damn scared to admit it.” He reluctantly takes one hand off Cas’s to pull the box out of his pocket. Cas goes completely still once his gaze falls on it.

The lid flips open to reveal the rings. “I’m not scared any more, Cas.”

For a couple of seconds Cas’s mouth opens comically before he snaps it shut again. At the same time his eyes glaze over with what Dean hopes is something equally as thrilled as the feeling expanding in his chest. “Dean you don’t have to-”

“Like hell I don’t,” Dean interrupts, setting the box aside so he can crawl closer and cradle Cas’s face in his hands, making sure he won’t look away. The action unceremoniously banishes Miracle from the bed, though Dean notices it only peripherally with his focus on Cas. “Why do you always say that? I get you’re telling yourself that you’re just trying to keep me comfortable but you know what? I think that you’re just like me and that deep down you’ve got yourself convinced that you don’t deserve to hear it when someone tells you how fucking amazing you are.” He knows he’s hit a nerve when Cas doesn’t even attempt to defend himself. “So please, just let me finish. I promise it won’t become a habit.”

As intended, Cas offers a watery chuckle at the remark. “Okay.”

It’s all the permission Dean needs to continue.

“Castiel.” He finds himself grinning from ear to ear. “Cas. You’re stubborn, and you’re an idiot and you drive me up the wall with your bee obsession.” He raises a hand in a silencing gesture before Cas can complain about having been promised _nice_ things. “But I’m no better and yet somehow I got lucky enough to have you love me regardless.” Tears are freely trailing down Cas’s cheeks now and Dean softly wipes them away one by one as they come.

“We already tried the whole ‘Til Death Do Us Part thing and it didn’t really work out. So how about we spend our eternal afterlives together instead. What do you say?”

He doesn’t get a yes. Instead he finds himself gently being tugged closer until he’s almost on top of Cas, who has his eyes closed now, his nose touching Dean’s as they hover barely a breath apart. “I have no words that could sufficiently convey what I’m feeling right now.”

“That a good or a bad thing?”

Cas’s answering kiss sings Dean’s praise, making words redundant.

Reluctantly Dean breaks away, before Cas can make _actions_ speak because he knows he won’t be able to think a single coherent thought once Cas starts moaning beneath his body and he’s really not one to leave business unfinished. Blindly, he reaches for the box that’s now somewhere behind him, a triumphant look on his face once he finds it. He pulls the shiny chrome band from its velvet bed, hoping that Cas loves the meteor detail as much as he does. The fact that he doesn’t object when Dean slides the ring on his finger is probably a good sign. In turn, he nudges Cas to do the honor of placing the second darker ring on Dean’s hand. It settles on his left ring finger where it will remain for however long Cas will have him. The rings are like magnets, drawing their hands together until their fingers intertwine and for a long time all they seem to be able to do is look at the way the simple bands contrast with their respective skin tones.

Once they’ve stared enough, Cas _does_ make his body do the talking after all and this time Dean has no intention of stopping him.


	6. Fireflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the last day of the year comes with a sweet little wrap-up for this story. All in all this has been nothing but unadulterated escapism and I hope y'all found as much joy in reading it as I did in writing it. 
> 
> Big thanks to a special friend who has been patiently enduring my 3 a.m. texts with ideas and indulging in the head canon with me in all its cheesy glory.

Sam and Eileen more or less spontaneously decide that they want to renew their vows, and this time in the presence of all their loved ones that couldn't be there the first time around. It starts out as a drunk idea on one of their Margarita nights at the cabin, but soon it evolves into serious planning. At first the happy couple considers hosting it at their place but Dean blurts out that he and Cas still haven't shown the cabin off to their friends and family and they could kill two birds with one stone. Plus, it could be his gift to Sam and Eileen that they won’t have to do anything but show up to their party looking all lovey-dovey and ready to give everyone cavities from the sweet vows they no doubt have in store for each other.

  
They end up decorating the meadow behind the cabin with fairy lights and lanterns after Eileen's wishes. There's artfully mismatched chairs around the tables that are spread all around the area so people can group together as they wish. The center of it all is a lovely arch with flowers from Cas’s garden climbing up on either side in a sort of intentional chaos of color that Cas is clearly proud of. Meanwhile, Dean sets up speakers somewhere further back so they have an improvised dance floor, because if they've got one thing out here it's freaking space. It's in all honesty looking pretty damn good and by the time Sam and Eileen come around together with Mom and Dad everyone seems to be equally in awe at what he and Cas have managed to create together. The compliments also extend to their cabin where John keeps repeating he can’t _believe_ Dean built all this, which would honestly be kind of insulting if not for the deeply impressed look on his face. Dean realizes this is the first time since he can remember that his Dad looks genuinely proud about something other than Dean killing things. Mary soon retreats into the garden to sit between the sweetly smelling flowers Cas loves so much, falling into conversation with the head gardener himself once he joins her to keep her company like the dutiful son-in-law he is.  
  
  


More guests start to arrive once the sun begins to set and the light from the lanterns gets competition from the loyal horde of fireflies that has become so sizeable, Dean is sure they could easily replace all artificial light sources set up around them.

First to find their way through the dancing veil of lightning bugs are Jody, her husband Sean and their son Owen, who understandably avoids Sam at all cost at first but warms up to him when he introduces Miracle, who immediately takes a liking to the boy.

Bobby arrives with his wife Karen at the same time as Rufus and Aretha, which really can’t be a coincidence, yet they grumpily ignore each other until all parties got a beer in their hands.

The entire Harvelle clan plus Ash follow not long after, sticking to each other like glue.

Eileen's side of the family herds around John and Mary in an enthusiastic assault of Irish accents, effectively relieving Cas of his entertainment duties.

Donna and Not-Doug take turns stealing cupcakes from the dessert table.

At first everyone more or less sticks to whoever they arrived with but once the booze starts to flow freely, people actually mingle outside of their groups and Dean keeps giving the Cabin Tour to whoever asks, realizing he’s not really hosting material although it’s too late to back out now that everyone’s here already. Luckily, Cas promises not to leave his side when he rejoins him. They get a few quiet moments together, leaning against the railing of their patio as they overlook their friends and family shower Sam and Eileen with attention and Dean finds himself fighting a lump in his throat. _Everyone_ is here at his home enjoying themselves. Cas has his arm around him and is stroking circles into his back while sending him little sideways glances that have the power to melt his fucking heart. It’s absolutely _perfect_ , even though Dean dislikes using that word outside of a sarcastic context.

Apparently he jinxed it because it all goes a bit lopsided when Charlie arrives fashionably late.

She starts crying almost immediately when she sees Eileen's flowing summer dress, describing it as a fair maiden’s dream. The crying only continues once she spots the ring on Dean's finger and finds its counterpart on Cas's hand and because of course she can't keep her mouth shut about it, soon the focus is somewhat taken off Sam and his lovely wife and instead redirected full force on the fact that Dean secretly eloped with his angel boyfriend despite all attempts at explaining they did no such thing. Even after Sam’s tear-jerker speech that he recites without use of a single note while also signing it elegantly to Eileen like he must have perfected during their life together, people still come to find Dean to congratulate _him_. Not a single soul is surprised that Sam found himself someone, but Dean Winchester officially settling down? That’s one for the fucking headlines apparently.

He’s not mad, exactly, just flustered at involuntarily having become the center of attention on what is supposed to be his brother’s big day. At first Sam, awesome person that he is, tries to redirect the attention back to its origin, but once the cake is cut and he and Eileen have adorably stumbled themselves through a semi-choreographed dance there’s really not much he can do. To his credit, he _does_ give Dean an apologetic shrug before grabbing himself a drink and dropping his tall frame into a chair at a neighboring table to enjoy the show. Next to him Eileen tries and fails to hide her amusement behind her wine glass while Donna and Jody take turns in yanking Dean’s hand around ‘to get a better look’. Across from him Cas remains conveniently unbothered, smiling serenely whenever Dean mouths ‘ _Help_ ’ at him.

Eventually he seems to decide that he has watched Dean suffer enough because he gets up and circles the table until he can hold his hand out to him. “May I steal him for a moment?” he asks with a smile directed at their still fawning friends. Corny bastard.

“Of _course_ ,” Jody exclaims excitedly, probably already having had her fair share of drinks. Dean takes Cas’s hand with an eye-roll, following him dutifully as he leads him away from the table.

“Gosh, I’m so happy for you two!” Donna calls after them.

They end up in a secluded corner of the meadow, far enough away that the voices and laughter of their friends is nothing more than pleasant background noise.

“Finally decided to take pity on me, huh?” There’s no real annoyance behind his words as he pulls Cas closer by their joined hands. Cas is about to respond with what is likely a deadpan remark when a soft breeze picks up around them. Usually Dean would have dismissed it but he can feel the hairs on his arms standing up as a pleasant shiver floods his skin. Cas clearly feels it too, a smile spreading on his face.

“Was that…?”

“Jack,” Cas confirms fondly. “Passing by to say Hello.”

A soft chuckle escapes Dean as he looks around into the once again breeze-less night. 

For what feels like a long time, Dean stands in awe of the unexpected reunion, however fleeting it had been. Without Jack, he wouldn’t be here right now, a ring on his finger and Cas’s hand in his while there’s a celebration of his brother’s happy marriage going full force in their backyard and he fervently hopes that Jack is aware of how damn grateful he is for it all. “Thanks for everything, kid,” he offers in a whisper, hoping Jack will still catch it.

His attention is effectively redirected when Cas kisses him softly on the lips, pouring all the happiness of this moment into it before snaking his arms up around Dean’s neck. With enough space between them to look into Cas’s eyes, he can make out the reflection of numerous fireflies in them, making it impossible to look away. There’s some embarrassingly cheesy 80s ballad playing from the speaker in the distance that’s definitely not part of Dean’s curated playlist but he still settles his hands on Cas’s hips, swaying them gently back and forth in time with the music.

As they slow-dance in the sea of tiny lights, cheek to cheek, Dean wonders once more how it always seems like the fireflies grow ever more plentiful. “Do you sometimes wonder how many of them there are?” he asks absentmindedly, not sure Cas even knows what he’s talking about.

Cas surprises him when he answers immediately.

“Eighteen thousand six hundred and fifty-one.”

Dean stops dancing and instead leans back to catch Cas’s gaze. “Excuse me?”

“One for every day we’ve known each other.” There’s a frown on Cas’s face for the briefest moment. “I thought you knew.”

Dean finds himself at a complete loss for words before offering an eloquent, “What?”

“There were four thousand four hundred and sixteen when you first arrived,” Cas explains, touching a hand to Dean’s cheek that Dean covers with his own. “I did not immediately understand the significance of it until I noticed their numbers grow but once we got an approximate idea of how much time had passed on Earth it made sense.”

“So, how many years are we talkin’ here?”

“Fifty-one. So far.”

Dean likes the sound of that. _So far._

“Well then.” He feels a grin spreading across his face. “Hope you aren’t tired of counting yet, ‘cause I ain’t going anywhere.”

“I’ll never grow tired of this,” Cas assures him sincerely.

They’re smiling softly at each other when Dean replies with equal devotion.

“Me neither, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year and may 2021 be kind to you. x


End file.
